


Genetica

by Feral_Female



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Bisexuality, Erotic, M/M, Romance, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8681332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Female/pseuds/Feral_Female
Summary: A Torchwood erotic M/M romance series about an alien found in a Ducal toilet, a frustrated factotum, and a Captain struggling to maintain an emotional distance. All issues are roughly about 1000 words, give or take. This story takes place before CoE. There is no real adherence to strict timelines within the show and so there may be some small liberties taken from time to time. Since I am a writer of gay romance, these Torchwood tales will be character driven with great attention to Jack and Ianto's relationship. That said, there will also be some alien action, but bedroom action with our two leading men will be just as, if not moreso, important. I hope you enjoy my take on this amazing world and these two incredible men.





	1. Bits & Pieces

 

**Genetica**

**Issue One**

**Bits & Pieces**

**Jack**

 

 

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

It was the ticking of that stopwatch of his. It had pulled me from the meditative state that I can slip into when lying beside him listening to his steady, deep breaths. Not every lover affects me so, just him. Odd when you think of how many people have lain beside me that only a select few can calm me as this man does. I miss sleeping. I miss quite a lot but having him in my arms…it helps.

His body was hot next to mine, his skin tacky where hip rested against hip. I rolled to the left, to study him as he slept just as much as to reach over his bare back to mute the ticking. The memory of how he had used that stopwatch to see just how quickly his hot, talented mouth could make me lose my mind made me smile.

Still, even though the ticking stirred up erotic memories, it needed to be quieted. Knowing that if I touched him again, the emotions he stirred up would broil up out of me like angry ants leaving a damaged hill, I stretched my arm over his upper back anyway. Our factotum murmured groggily, the smell of his cologne mingled with the heady aroma of sweat and sex teasing me as I pressed my chest into his back.

“Trolley rice cakes,” Ianto groaned as my weight settled more firmly onto his side. I paused just for a second, eyebrows beetled, to try to figure just what the hell he was talking about. Tossing any rational explanation aside, I pawed on the bed table for the old-fashioned stopwatch. Of course, anything in this flat was old-fashioned as far as I was concerned, including my lover. And didn’t that make him all that much more adorable?

I heard the patter of all the small and usually insignificant bits and pieces of Ianto Jones’ pocket garbage hitting the floor.

“Not on the plan for the middle of the night,” I grumbled into his warm flesh, taking just a split second to press a kiss to his shoulder before slipping from his bed to locate whatever it was that had hit the floor. His place was chilly. My skin, toasty from his body next to mine, prickled with gooseflesh. I could smell the rain on the air, moving on a soft current through his flat. I pattered softly around the bed, not wishing to wake him. Not yet anyway although a game of naked hide and seek at two in the morning did appeal.

Dropping to hands and knees, I began feeling under the bed, in the dark, the only light a slim sliver of silver-white moon falling over the bed. It struck me that anyone who might walk in - thankfully this was not the Tower so teammates barging in didn’t happen as often as at work - but the view they would have of Jack Harkness with his bare ass in the air and balls dangling while he felt around for coins, dust bunnies, and who-knows-what under the bed would be damn funny. At least to Owen who would drop acidic little comments on an hourly basis. Gwen would stumble off chuckling and dash home to tell Rhys. Tosh’s reaction would be flaming cheeks and no eye contact for days. Ah my team. I did love them all so. None quite as much as the man dreaming about trolley rice cakes - whatever they were - but they each were deeply special to me.

My fingers found several coins, a paperclip chain, two condom packages, a small flashlight, and four coupons for half off a meat-lovers at Jubilee Pizza. The thought of any kind of meat still made me a little queasy and quite a bit sad. I placed the finds back on the bed stand but held onto the paperclips. Taking a seat on the cold wooden floor, I held the chain up into that single moonbeam.

The paperclip chain was something I had started just today, seated in my office, bored, mulling over a million things ranging from Weevils to Time Lords. Ianto had come in, mumbling about the lack of clean coffee mugs and how unfair it was that he seemed to be the only one who washed a bloody cup. I had tossed him the chain of perhaps fifteen paper clips, gave him a wink, and told him to start buying Styrofoam.

“What, and fill up the landfills? _Really_ , Jack,” he had countered and left, looking far too good from the back in one of those dapper suits of his, off to wash tea stains from ceramic mugs, I had assumed.

My attention came back to the paperclip chain. Why had he kept such an inconsequential thing? And why was seeing it among his effects making me feel so much that processing it all would take centuries? I snapped the stopwatch and a condom up from the pile of pocket treasures.

“Did you order more mugs?” Ianto groggily asked when I wiggled up next to him. “We need more cups. God, your feet are cold.”

“I think what you need is to not to worry about coffee cups right now,” I murmured beside his ear. He moaned gently, a soft sound that stirred up an instant response in me. I slid the stopwatch under the pillow, fumbling around until I located his hand. I threw my leg over his, my erection pressing into his hip. His fingers closed over the timepiece as I rolled him over onto his back. Another low groan escaped him. “It’s time for me to see just how fast you lose _your_ mind, Mr. Jones,” I said as I tore open the condom package.

             


	2. Genetica - Chapter 2 - Just Another Manic Wednesday

**Genetica**

**Issue Two**

**Just Another Manic Wednesday**

**Ianto**

 

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Waiting for the water to boil for tea was the worst. I stretched, winced at the aches in highly intimate places, and pattered over to the fridge for some milk. We were up before the sun. Nothing unusual that. Jack didn’t sleep and tended to get restless after just a few hours lying beside me in bed. And when Jack was restless, I ended up losing sleep. True, the lack of sleep happened in quite pleasant ways but it was still a lack of sleep. A yawn wide enough to make my jaw pop escaped while I made my way back to the still silent kettle.

“Is there any coffee brewing, Ianto?” Jack’s voice bounced down the short corridor from my bedroom to the kitchen. I groaned and set about making a pot of coffee. The man appeared a moment later in low-riding sleep pants, the same as I was dressed in. I gave his flat stomach a nice approving nod and then dumped a pot of cold water into the back of the coffee maker.

“I thought I’d make breakfast first. Think you’re up to trying laverbread and cockles today?” I told him as he pulled down a large blue mug from the cupboard. Nice to see that he knew where they were.

“I doubt it but you keep trying,” he said, coming over to nuzzle the back of my neck playfully. “That’s one of the things I love about you. Your tenacity.”

“Oh? And what about my other skills?” His free hand snaked around my waist then travelled upward to rest on my chest. I could feel his erection resting between my ass cheeks and I won’t lie, it sent most of my blood racing south. “Are people from your time never satisfied?”

“Are you complaining, Mr. Jones?” His white teeth latched onto my earlobe.

“Hardly,” I countered smoothly. He laughed then nipped along my neck until the coffee pot stopped burbling. “Fill me up, Ianto,” Jack purred into my ear.

“Now _that_ sounds familiar,” I mumbled as I poured coffee into the mug he held out in front of me. He chortled, brushed my rough cheek with a kiss, and then ambled off to shave and shower. And still my bloody tea wasn’t ready. I bent over to check the flame and found that it wasn’t lit. “Fuck,” I spat.

“Language, Mr. Jones,” Jack chided from down the hallway. A thud at the front door announced that the morning paper had arrived. After lighting the stove, I went to fetch the local Cardiff newspaper. We had a rule, for the most part, that said that technology was not to be on when we were here together unless it was an emergency. Of course, that rule was stretched and broken at least four times a week if not more since we _were_ Torchwood, but it was nice on the days the rule held. Lord knows we both see enough technology – earthly and otherwise – at work.

Resting my ass to the kitchen counter, I waited for the water to boil while giving the headlines a quick read. My mouth dropped to my chest when I saw the news from abroad.

“Jack, do you know about this fucking mess?” I called and headed down the corridor to find him. He was leaning over the bathroom sink, towel around his thick neck, pulling a razor down his cheek. His coffee sat beside the toothbrush holder which held two brushes. I’ll make no comment about how confusing and wonderful seeing his brush next to mine was.

“No, but if you hum a few bars I can fake it.” I gave him a blank look. He flashed that rapscallion smile. I continued to stare at him emotionlessly. He exhaled dramatically and lowered the disposable razor. “What is it?”

“Your people have elected Donald Trump,” I informed him, shaking the weekly in front of his face. “What the bloody hell is wrong with them?”

“It’ll be okay,” he said matter-of-factly then returned to shaving. I blinked at him like an owl that had just flown into a window.

“Jack, did you not hear what I said? The Americans have just put a man who could overturn marriage equality into the White House! I should think that as an omnisexual man in a complicated but meaningful relationship with a bisexual man you’d be outraged about— “

He shoved the paper aside with the hand holding the razor while grabbing the back of my neck with another. His mouth settled over mine, demanding I acquiesce. I did, greedily. His tongue slid over mine as his fingers tightened on the nape of my neck. Then, he pulled back, his eyes warm.

“It will be okay, Ianto. Trust me when I tell you this. It. Will. Be. Okay.” He placed his brow to mine. “Love always trumps hate.”

 

 

 


	3. Genetica - Chapter 3 - So, It's NOT Escargot?

**Genetica**

**Issue Three**

**So, It’s _Not_ Escargot?**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

“Talk to me, Owen,” I said entering the autopsy room with Ianto on my heels. Our medic glanced up, his dark eyes showing his exhaustion. The smell in the recessed area where we poked and prodded inside aliens smelled like a sewer. “What exactly did we fish out of the Duke of Rothesay’s toilet?”

Ianto graciously peeled my greatcoat off my shoulders. I gave him a smile of thanks as he moved off to hang it up. The man was incredibly efficient. My eyes lingered on him for a moment or two. Owen cleared his throat.

“Sorry, it’s been an anxiety-producing morning for some. So, what exactly are we looking at there?” I waved a hand at the two-foot-long purplish-black slug lying dead on the autopsy table.

“I have effectively ruled out that it’s the Duke’s meal from yesterday.” Owen moved around the room to pick up a scalpel.

“Good to hear. I’d worry about what his sphincter looked like if it had been,” I remarked, grabbing the cold metal rails that ran around the circular upper level. I heard Ianto moving around the Hub and muttering under his breath.

“Yes, as would I,” Owen commented dryly then glanced up at me as he held the scalpel in the air dramatically. “There is this interesting little bit of frivolity that I’d like to show you.”

Arms braced on the railing, I leaned forward just a bit. Owen jabbed at the Duke’s slug. The blade of the scalpel snapped off and flew skyward.

“Is there a reason that every damn mug in this place is lying dirty in the sink?” Our good-looking factotum had returned and he sounded more than a little angry.

“Long night trying to open up this shitty thing,” the chief medical officer said and then directed my attention to a tray holding a pile of broken medical instruments. “Nothing I have here will cut through its scaly-skin covering stuff.”

“Scaly-skin stuff. Is that a term you learned in medical school?” I asked. Ianto stalked around me.

“Did it ever occur to you to actually wash a mug, or perhaps rinse the same one out and reuse it?” Mr. Jones snapped at the dark-haired man in white scrubs.

“No, actually, it didn’t because that’s your job.”

Ouch. I knew Owen Harper could be cold and indifferent at times but that was a pretty deep cut. I glanced at my lover. His face was set in stone but the hurt was obvious in those blue eyes.

“He’s tired,” I told Ianto. Our support man stalked off with stiff shoulders. I made a mental note to track him down in the information center after I found out what I could about the Duke’s slug.

 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to send him off,” Owen sighed then tossed the broken scalpel to the overflowing tray in a pique. “He does realize that not all of us can spend our time worrying over coffee mugs or loading paper into the printer when it runs out.”

 “I’m pretty sure he just wants to feel like he’s not taken for granted.” Owen nodded and ran his fingers through his short hair. “Why don’t you head home and grab some sleep. I’ll get Tosh to pull up all what she can on ‘large snails found in Ducal crappers during the last century’.”

 “Right, yes, I think I’ll do that. Tell him I’m sorry, will you?”

 “Maybe you should tell him yourself,” I replied then headed off to find Ianto. He was stuffing postcards into a new rack he had purchased and set up at the end of the reception desk. “Are you okay?”

 “No, not really. Yes. No.” He flung several cards at the rack then turned to face me. “Do you think I’m just a glorified maid?”

 “Of course not,” I assured him. His stern expression seemed locked into place.

 “Are you saying that because you want to continue shagging me?”

 “Ianto, I am fully aware of all you do for this team and this organization.”

 “Good, I’m glad someone does! My job description entails many things, tea and coffee brewing being the lowest on the list. I administer the computer systems, I cover up deaths and dispose of bodies, and I stand behind this fucking desk for hours on end to provide a believable cover for Torchwood Three and the agents that — " I pulled him to me for a kiss. Generally, that worked. Not this time though. Ianto shook my hand off his forearm. “Not everything can be fixed with a wet snog, Jack.”

He stormed around me and out the door into the rain he went. Great. And it was only Wednesday. I couldn’t _wait_ to see what the rest of the week looked like.


	4. Genetica - Chapter 4 - A Touch of Temperance

**Genetica**

**Issue Four**

**A Touch of Temperance**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

An hour, and two large pints, disappeared. I sat back, staring at my stopwatch, keeping track of each tick as the pub patrons moved around me like periphery shadows. Seen but not seen. My mind wandered.

            _“If you’re interested, I still have that stopwatch.”_

_“So?”_

_“Well, think about it. Lots of things you can do with a stopwatch.”_

Snapping the watch closed, I let several other conversations with Jack play out in my mind. Some were tender talks, others heated, and some erotic, private words spoken in the dark of the night when two men are one. Life with Jack in it was wonderful and yet not without stresses. Trying to put a finger on what our relationship should be called was one of the biggest. Jack wasn’t big on confessions of any kind. Trying to pull anything out of the man, be it about his past, his favorite sexual positions, or how deeply he felt for me was almost impossible. But I had known that going in. I tossed some cash on the bar and left, my stopwatch in my pocket.

            Perhaps I had overreacted.  Lack of sleep never did look good on me. Owen also had been sleep deprived. Opting to be the bigger man, I decided I would return, apologize, and then wash all those fucking mugs. Mulling over my relationship status would be put to the backburner. Again.

            The Hub was empty when I returned. I stood just inside the massive rolling door, my gaze moving over the vacant seats in front of everyone’s station. Sighing with resignation, I removed my jacket, tossed the gray pinstripe over the back of Gwen’s office chair, and began searching for dirty mugs. I combed the Hub, finding mugs with dried coffee rings in the oddest places. Several were in Jack’s office. Five were down in the cell area. My eyes darted to a Weevil safely held behind a see-through wall, shocked to not see a dirty mug in with the alien as well.

            Mugs hanging off every finger, I made a quick pass by the autopsy room. And, sure enough, there were dirty mugs there too. Cursing silently, I walked down the ramp, hands and fingers full of porcelain cups, and went to fetch the dirty mugs on the counter. Passing by the Duke’s slug, I threw it a passing glance. The mug dangling off my pinkie hit the table, snapping the handle clean off. The cup hit the floor and smashed into thousands of pieces. I may have slipped into a slight little tantrum of sorts.

            Fine. It was a bloody good fit of pure anger and frustration. I peeled the mugs off my fingers, save for one. When I stood, Owen’s jab about me being just a glorified scullery maid stabbed me in the ego. The slug was lying there dead so I threw the broken mug at it. It shattered on impact with the alien but most of the broken cup did not go airborne. Long shards of porcelain had somehow embedded in the creature. My mouth dropped open as a green viscous goo began to seep out around the wounds.

            “Well, isn’t that interesting?” I bent forward to examine the slug. Hundreds of  long, thin shards of coffee mug had gone into the alien a good inch or two but how? How the hell could a sliver of broken cup get through skin that Owen had not been able to penetrate? Knowing not to touch anything, I inhaled deeply, blew out a perplexed breath, and called my boss. Lover. Boyfriend? Whatever. Something made my sinuses tickle. An odd, murky smell like an old marsh rested deep inside my nose. I sneezed twice. Jack finally responded to my call.

            “Ianto, you’ll never guess where we are and what we’re doing.”

            “In the sewers looking for a Weevil?” The smell was getting stronger. I scrubbed at my nose to stop the tingling sensation. The smell coming off the slug was intensifying. Each breath in seemed to draw in more stink and something else…something that felt like I’d swabbed the inside of my nostrils with petroleum jelly. “I’ve found something that will penetrate the skin of a Ducal slug.”

            “On the nose and did you really?” I could hear Gwen bitching at Owen about splashing her with water that smelled like shite. That amused me. A sneeze blossomed out of nowhere. Then another and another. I dug into the front pocket of my jacket for a handkerchief. “Bless you. Give us another thirty minutes and we’ll have this ugly prick.”

            “I’ll get the medical computers online and a cell prepared,” I told him, my nose running like a faucet now.

            “Do that. Oh, and I’m looking forward to take out tonight. Make sure you order extra sweet and sour sauce. I have something in mind for it.” His voice was rife with sexual promise. It turned me on, I cannot lie.

            “You’re hovering quite close to harassment again, Sir,” I replied smoothly. Jack chuckled. Owen shouted about shitty water filling his boots. Hearing that made me feel considerably better. “I’ll be ready for you when you return.”

            “Good man.” Jack severed the call and I blew my nose repeatedly, never quite getting the odor of buggy bayou out before I went off to wash cups, get the computer files open, make coffee, and put in a call for Chinese with extra sweet and sour sauce.

 


	5. Genetica - Chapter 5 - Steam

**Genetica**

**Issue Five**

**Steam**

**Jack**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

There’s a strip of corded muscle on his stomach, to the left of his navel that’s smooth and rippled. It trembles uncontrollably when touched or licked and he makes this incredible noise when a nip is placed to this sinfully tasty patch of skin. It’s a low, guttural moan that rumbles out of the depths of his chest. Drives. Me. Wild.

“How close are you?” I asked, working him slowly, my hand slick with sweet and sour sauce. “Ianto, how close are you?”   

“Close, so close,” he replied breathlessly, his hands balled in the sheets, his back bowed up off the mattress. A smile pulled at my lips. One last packet of sweet and sour left. I ripped a corner off with my teeth, squeezed and coated my fingers and his prick yet again. “God, finish me, Jack.”

I licked down to my goal, reveling in the taste of him slathered with sauce. Taking him deeply into my mouth I heard him murmur my name. He came quickly, powerfully, tugging the bottom sheet off his bed as his body convulsed. When he was done, limp and spent under me, I slid up over him, covering his mouth with mine. Slippery and willing he wrapped his powerful legs around my waist then rolled a condom over me with shaking hands. I eased myself into him. For a few glorious moments there was nothing but Ianto. His heat, his strength, his beautiful compassion, his moist breath on my face, and his entreaties for more, faster, and deeper. With his hands on the back of my neck I found my own release.

“Such a beautiful man,” I mumbled against his clavicle as I rode out the tremors. He ground up against me. I kissed him hard, deep, and hopefully with enough emotion he could stop fretting over my feelings. Reading Ianto Jones was easy. Everything he felt was in his eyes.

“This bedding will never be the same,” he panted listlessly. I withdrew and dropped down beside him, my arm coming to rest on his damp chest.

“Mumpf,” I grunted into a pillow. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply of the pillowcase that held the smell of fabric softener and Ianto. We lay there peacefully for quite some time. My mind slipped off to that place it goes when it should be sleeping. Assuming my lover was slumbering, I lifted my face from the pillow just an inch and looked in his direction when he wordlessly left the wide bed. Within a moment the pounding of water in the bathroom reached my ears. Flopping to my back, I made a face when I had to peel the sheet from my tacky stomach.

“Jack, come join me, won’t you?” he beckoned as steam rolled around the cracked door and into the bedroom. Washing was a good idea. Entering the tidy bath, I found him lying back in the tub. I quirked an eyebrow while padding around him to remove and flush my condom.

“That’s something new, isn’t it?” I asked from the toilet. Ianto _never_ took a bath. He maintained sitting in his own filth disgusted him.  He groaned. I threw him a look over my shoulder as I urinated. His eyes were closed, his head back. His muscular arms dangled over the sides of the clawfoot tub. I flushed again and walked to the tub. Fingerlings of moisture rose from the water, carrying traces of scent: sweat, sex, Ianto, soap, and fine molecules of that damn stink that had oozed out of the slug.

“I felt like soaking.” His blue eyes opened. He lifted a hand languorously and extended it to me. “Join me. I need my back washed.”

“Back washing _is_ vitally important,” I replied with a knowing smirk. I stepped into the tub then knelt between his spread legs. The water bordered on too hot. “As is front washing.” I picked up the soap and ran it over his chest, lathering the hair that ran across his pectorals. The water level continued to rise until he nudged me to turn off the taps. “Are you sure you’re up for another round?’

“Mm, yes, if we stay in the water.”

“That we can do.” And we did, with some rearranging of limbs. Balancing on the edge of a tub while getting head requires skill, just so you know. I am quite a skilled man. As is Ianto Jones. When the fun times had ended, I climbed out of the tepid water, leaving my support man in the tub. “You planning on getting out before you wrinkle even more?”

“No, thank you. I’m going to just stay in here for a bit.” He turned the hot water on as I toweled off. Clouds of hot, wet air began to fill the bath again.

“Oh-kay.” I knotted the towel at my hip, gave him a befuddled look, shrugged, and then walked to the door. “I’m going to head back to the Hub and see what Owen has found out since you found a way inside the slug. You want to join me?”

“No, thank you.” He closed his eyes and slithered down into the soapy water until the hot water lapped at his bottom lip. “Close the door, will you?”

I stared at him openly for a long moment then shut the door behind me. 

“Curiouser and curiouser” I muttered as I dressed and left the man to his bath.

 


	6. Genetica - Chapter Six - Immersion

**Genetica**

**Issue Six**

**Immersion**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

“I need Owen and Tosh with me. Gwen stay here and dig around to see if you can find any past affiliations with the Patterson Corporation. Keep Ianto close at hand for local intelligence or anything else you may need,” Jack said as he jammed his arms into his great coat.

I gave Gwen a quick look. We both nodded and left the briefing room. The other Torchwood agents went off to prowl through the alleys of Cardiff in hopes of discovering who or what was causing slight rift spikes near the Patterson Corporation, a huge genetic research facility.

“You’ll be going out soon,” Gwen said after about an hour of us staring at computer screens. I glanced over at the rift manipulator. It felt louder today. “As an agent, I mean, and not just for pizza or baked goods.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” I gave her a weak smile and returned to my work. I dug at my forearm. My shirt felt scratchy, as if the dry cleaner had used too much starch. The rift manipulator grew louder with each beat of my heart. Gwen’s chitter-chat about my future chafed. I didn’t need her to build me up. I knew I was good. It was only a matter of time before Jack saw my worth in the field. _Fucking miserable shirt!_ I peeled off my jacket and threw it aside, desperate to get to my stomach and scratch.

“No, I mean it. I know you probably feel we all think that you’re sleeping with him to up your chances of promotion.” My gaze flew from my work to her. “But we don’t. We know how enigmatic he is. The man is bloody impossible to resist.” She smiled widely, trying to make things less awkward. Her charming, gap-toothed grin did nothing to ease my discomfort.

“Fifty-first century pheromones,” I mumbled, my hand now under the plain white t-shirt I wore under my dress shirt. My skin felt cracked, dry, parched. My mouth was arid. “I left my notes in the reception area,” I said as I got to my feet.

“Ianto, if I said something out of line…”

“No, nothing, be right back,” I shouted over my shoulder as I bolted through the security doors and into the information center. I ripped at my shirt, pulling it from me, buttons and cuff links flying to the corners of the room. My tie nearly garroted me but I managed to get it over my head. I paced the confining area, my heart rate twice what it should be, my pulse thumping in my ears. I dug at my forearm as I circled the room. On the third pass I caught the smell of the wharf. My hand fell from my forearm. Water. Yes. That would ease me. The door creaked as I pushed it open. I saw blood under my nails as I shoved on the door but gave it no heed. The smell of the water was much stronger now. I could see it, taste it, absorb it with each breath. The sun glistening off the water captured my full attention. The moisture beckoned.

Standing at the edge of the wharf, gulls dipping and diving over the water, I toed off my shoes and peeled off my trousers and briefs. A woman screamed but it was far off, as if she were in another time. The lapping sounds of the water smacking against the wharf slowed my erratic heart. I stepped off the edge. The water welcomed me as I slid under it, arms out to the side, mouth opened, eyes closed in ecstasy. Finally, I was where I belonged. My skin no longer irritated, my mind felt at peace. I inhaled deeply and felt the water enter my lungs. There was no panic, no fear. There was only one thought caressing my mind.

_Find Jack. Mate with him._

Bubbles escaped my nose and mouth, climbing to the surface as I sank to the bottom to await the mating.


	7. Genetica - Chapter 7 - You Turn Your Back for One Minute...

**Genetica**

**Issue Seven**

**You Turn Your Back for One Minute…**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

“Jack! Jack!” Gwen’s voice screeched into my ear via my earpiece. I tapped it to open the mic as I studied the exterior of the Patterson Corporation building that I had just been escorted out of by security. Owen and Tosh had gone off to investigate a weak spike in the rift a few blocks down. “He’s drowning!”

“Gwen, what the hell is going on?” I barked, my thoughts leaving genetic research labs and rude security men. “Who’s drowning?”

“Ianto.”

My heart stopped beating. “Gwen, where are you? Gwen? _Gwen!"_ Where had she gone? Panic kicked in and I flipped up the cover on the vortex manipulator strapped to my wrist and started frantically tapping buttons. When nothing happened, reality returned and it came to me that there was no way to teleport to Gwen and Ianto. _Who was drowning_. My ability to “space hop” as The Doctor called it had disappeared when the miserable thing had burned out. There would be no teleporting to help save Ianto.

“ _Fuck_!” I roared and leaped into the SUV. There was no time to fetch Tosh and Owen, so I told them to grab a cab.

“Grab a cab?” Owen snarled in my ear while I sent coordinates to my team members. I ran up over a curb and nicked a lamppost. Okay, so driving and searching for my drowning lover was probably mostly bad. I jerked the wheel to the left. The SUV thumped back down onto the street. I hit the gas, my eyes darting from the road to the manipulator. A small blue screen appeared showing all my people. “What are we, cheap dates that got uglier when closing time at the pub rolled around?”

“No time for this. Ianto’s drowning. Grab a cab. Bill the Institute.”

“Oh, well then, best get to him,” Owen replied.

“You _think_?” I snarled and severed the line to our medic. Weaving among cars was dicey and a few bumpers might have lost some paint. They could bill me as well.

Brakes locking up, I slid up onto the sidewalk and exploded out of the black SUV. I ran as fast as I could, coat snapping behind me, to the water. That was when I saw a crowd at the edge of the wharf. I shoved my way through. And there was Gwen, in the water, trying valiantly to get Ianto’s head above the brackish waves.

“Jack, help,” Gwen coughed, her long dark hair matted to her head. “He’s too heavy, I can’t get him out.”

 I peeled off my coat and leaped in. I took him from Gwen, hoisting his dead weight – _Dear gods let that be a terrible choice of words_ – onto my shoulder. A couple strangers reached down to assist. As soon as Ianto was lying on the wet cement Gwen and I started CPR. I turned his head to the side. Water flowed out of his mouth and nose. I felt sick and lost and terrified. I pinched his nose shut and blew four strong breaths into him. Over and over I did this, breathing then stopping to listen with my ear by his mouth, my fear increasing with each attempt to get him breathing. Gwen did the compressions, I forced air into him.

After a lifetime Ianto gagged and sputtered, water flying out of his mouth. I nearly wept. People clapped. Someone handed us a blanket. I glanced up to see it was Owen. He pushed in beside me and tried to get Ianto wrapped up.

“I’ve got him,” I snapped, swaddling Ianto in a thick black blanket with the Torchwood insignia. Owen attempted to help me heft Ianto in my arms. “I’ve got him!”

Our medic threw up his hands. Cradling Ianto to my soggy chest, I alone carried him into the Hub. He coughed now and again, his head lolling around loosely on his neck.

“Take him to the medical bay,” I heard Owen saying from behind me. Gwen sneezed, a tiny, high-pitched, little cat sneeze. Normally, that made me smile. Not now. Not today. Not with this man who meant so much to me lying listless and pale in my arms, water dribbling from the corner of his mouth. The same mouth that had brought me such pleasure just last night. Was it last night? I was so confused and terrified my timelines seemed tangled.

“Jack,” Ianto murmured as I hustled along, knocking over cups and garbage from desks.

“Right here,” I told him, the medical station finally coming into sight. “I swear I can’t leave you alone for a minute,” I said, trying for lighthearted but failing miserably. Water ran from my hair and clothes. 

“I’m scared,” he weakly confessed.

“So am I,” I admitted, gently lifting him up then laying him on a sterile exam table. He trembled strongly, coughed up another cup of water, and rolled to his side to grab at me. “I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him, bending to press a kiss to his damp brow.

“Will you be my mate?”

“I thought I already was,” I said, my lips brushing his forehead as I spoke. Another hacking cough, more water expectorated, and only a few million questions to be answered.

 

 


	8. Genetica - Chapter 8 - That Which We Are and Aren't

**Issue Eight**

**That Which We Are and Aren’t**

**Ianto**

 (Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

            Owen makes horrific coffee. I drank it, smiled and thanked him, but still, his coffee was ghastly. God forbid he ever take over my job. I felt exposed, more than slightly terrified, and still odd in my own skin. The plush blanket felt coarse on my bare back.

            We were gathered in the lab, because my land legs weren’t fully engaged yet. I was trying to not think about stepping off the edge of that wharf because it made me want to vomit with fear.

            “I’ve dug into your locker and found you dry clothes as well,” Toshiko smiled up at me while refilling my cup. Despite how bad the coffee was it did warm a person. It also gave me something to do with my hands beside cling to Jack, which I suspected he did not like overmuch in public. The head of our team had peeled out of his soggy clothes  and now stood beside me, fully dressed aside from his coat.

            “What did you find when you were digging into the Patterson Corporation?” Jack enquired, stepping up to the gurney I was seated on to pull my blanket back over my shoulder. That gesture warmed me more than Owen’s muddy brew ever could.

            “Plenty, after I managed to burrow through their firewalls,” the petite Japanese agent said then gently pushed her glasses up her nose. “They’ve got internet security to rival that of the CIA.”

            “Which you have hacked into more times than I’ve died,” Jack tossed out, his hand resting on the back of my neck, his grip firm and sure.

            “Yes, well, I _am_ pretty amazing,” Tosh smiled. We all agreed as she pulled up some files on her notebook to read off. “What I discovered is that the Patterson Corporation is conducting some highly classified experimental DNA tests for the Royal Navy.” I threw a quick sideway glance at Jack who smiled and gave my neck a squeeze. “It seems that they’re working on crafting a mutagen that will allow their divers to stay under water for long periods of time sans bulky diving equipment.”

            “Every military in the world is looking for their own Captain America,” Gwen murmured and shivered under a blanket much like mine.

            “I wouldn’t turn Steve Rogers away,” Jack and Tosh said simultaneously.

            “What does that have to do with me?” I asked, feeling stupid for being so slow on the uptake but my mind seemed sluggish, pardon the horrid pun.

            “Do you have any idea of how long you were underwater?” Gwen asked of me. I shook my head. I had little idea of much of anything aside the desire to submerge myself and link up with Jack to mate. “From the time I saw you step off the edge of the pier to the time Jack arrived to help me get you out of the water ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds elapsed.”

            “Right, and you weren’t quite dead when they pulled you out.” Owen appeared, carrying the slug on a tray. “I’d refrigerated this nasty bloke because we got called off, but there are a few things that I’ve been mulling over. First, let’s get this on you, shall we? “He dug into a pocket on his white smock then held up some sort of bracelet with pulsing blue lights. I held out my arm and our medical officer snapped it around my wrist. “This device will help me monitor what percentage of your body is compromised by alien DNA.”

            “Wait, what?” I gasped, my eyes locking with Owen’s. “How would that have happened?”          

            “My hypothesis is that when you managed to slice open the slug with the shards of ceramic, the blood that was released into the air held some sort of mutagen.” I stared openly at the medic fastening that clunky device to my wrist. Owen’s eyes met mine. “Think in the terms of a fungi releasing spore. Since these creatures have no reproductive organs that I can find, I must assume that their blood carries minute particles that, once inhaled, begin to overtake the host via the sinus passages.” Jack’s grip on my neck grew a little tighter.

            “So, you’re saying that I’m slowly going to turn into one of those things,” I jerked my wet head at the slug on the tray.

            “Yes, only after you and your chosen mate somehow shag. I’ve not yet worked out that part, but after sex, the blood will be fertile and you’ll search out something that will split you open and expose your blood, thereby killing you but propagating the species.”

            “But Jack and Ianto can’t reproduce,” Tosh pointed out. I felt too nauseous to speak.

            “No, not as we human’s do, but this is an alien life form, so what we think about reproduction doesn’t apply,” Owen explained then went off on a long tangent about who knew what. I stared at the flashing wristlet, my mind simply unwilling to absorb all this information.

            Everyone was silent for a moment. I could feel all their eyes on me. Jack finally spoke up, his hand leaving my neck. The blanket slithered off my shoulders and puddled around my waist.

            “We’re going into the Patterson Corporation and we are not leaving until we have an antidote for Ianto’s condition,” our leader announced.

            “There might not be an antidote. They’re working on creating aquatic men, not curing them,” Owen cautiously pointed out. “Sorry, mate,” he tacked on when he glanced at me. There was nothing for me to say, so I sat there, rancid coffee in a stained cup, and cursed my need to be so anal about coffee mugs. “I’m onto something, I think, about the composition of porcelain and how the mineral mullite might be the Achille’s heel of these damn scales but I’m a long way off on anything concrete.”

            “Right. We’ll get ready.” That was Gwen. She tended to slip into the role of second-in-command with ease. “Here, cover up your back, luv.” I heard her rapid inhalation as she reached for the blanket pooled around my waist. “Jack, Owen, have a look here.”

           They scurried around to stare at my back. I craned my head to try to gaze at what Gwen had seen. “What? What is it?” My voice sounded slightly panicked.

           Jack looked directly into my eyes. “Scales are forming on your lower back.”


	9. Genetica - Chapter 9 - The Rise and Fall of Self

**Genetica**

**Issue Nine**

**The Rise and Fall of Self**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

Three of us went to infiltrate the Patterson Corporation; Jack, Gwen, and me. Tosh stayed behind to ensure our breaking and entering didn’t set off any whistles and bells and Owen was desperately working on something to help me in some way. He also was setting up the lab for the arrival of a cure that no one aside from Jack believed to exist. It was an uncomfortable ride. I’d taken the seat beside Jack, who was driving with zealous singularity of purpose. My skin screamed for moisture, the itch maddening. Two blocks from our goal, the bracelet on my wrist pealed loudly enough to jar the dead. Jack threw me a look as I wriggled in my seat, trying, in vain, to scrub my back against the seat. More ebony scales pushed through the flesh and I silently chewed on a groan of pain. Who I was ebbed and flowed and it terrified me.

Gwen reached up from the back and placed her hand on my shoulder. Her touch was soothing. She’d always maintained that she had an empath in her family tree. Maybe that was so, or maybe, as the bracelet wailed out that my DNA was now forty-five percent alien, I just needed some human contact.

“We’ll find a cure, I can feel it,” Gwen said as we rounded a bend on two tires.

“We’ll have to live long enough,” I mumbled under my breath. Our leader didn’t take the bait. Jack drove, his jaw set, the speedometer leaping up to unsafe numbers. How we didn’t kill someone I do not know. He cut the engine about half a mile from the huge research facility. We sat in the dark, the blue lights of the SUV pulsing down the sides of the windscreen, my bracelet silent for the moment.

“Owen,” Jack spoke out after tapping his headset, “I want this monitor on Ianto silenced. Tosh, we’re in position.”

“Right,” Owen replied into our earpieces. I pulled out my handgun, a compact M1911, slammed a full clip in, and patted down my jacket to ensure I had a few dozen extra clips.

“I’m shutting down the northern gate now,” Tosh informed us. We exited the SUV, black as the night, it sat in the shadows undetected, we hoped. “All perimeter cameras on the northern fence will be down for exactly thirty seconds in two minutes.”

“That’s more than enough time.” Jack jogged off, Gwen and I behind him. We covered about half an acre at a dead run. When we reached the fence, I was doubled-over, my chest feeling like a steel band was being tightened around it.

“Ianto, you need to slow down. Your oxygen levels are dipping dangerously,” our medic warned. I tried to reply but was too winded to do so.

“Go back to the SUV and wait for us,” Jack quietly barked then began cutting through the fence with some sort of sonic device he carries.

“Like hell,” I gasped. Gwen rubbed my back. The wheezing slowed as we waited for Jack to cut a human – or whatever the hell I was becoming – gash in the chain-link.

“Ianto, that’s an order,” he snarled before pushing through the fence.

“To hell with your orders,” I muttered and pushed through to face him down in the pale moonlight. “Sir,” I tacked on in the meager hope he wouldn’t can me on the spot or punch me in the face. He did neither.

“Field agents do _not_ ignore direct orders,” he reminded me. “Now get your ass back to the SUV or you’ll be shipped to U.N.I.T. so fast your stubborn head will spin.”

“You can do that with my body, Sir.” I hustled off into the dark, slipping around a corner of the research facility, gun resting on the flashing bracelet. Tosh eased her way into the heated exchange, telling us that she would have an emergency exit forty meters away unlocked in twenty seconds. I felt Jack and Gwen stepping up on either side of me.

“When this is over, you and I are having a long talk about insubordination,” Jack informed me. I nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time Jack and I had gone round, and I doubted it would be the last. Or, perhaps it would…

 I was glad for the night hiding our faces.

“Yes, Sir.” It was all I could say. Another surge of pain washed over me, stiffening my spine, and making my hands shake. I felt the sharp edges of scales ripping through the skin on the nape of my neck. I teetered into the head of Torchwood, a moan escaping around my grinding teeth.

“Fifty-two percent,” Owen told us. The air I was trying to breath felt as heavy as the night. “The shifts in DNA are coming faster, probably from your adrenal system running on overdrive. Try to remain calm, Ianto.” I rolled my dry eyes.

“We’re going in and we’re not slowing down. Ianto, you’re with me. Gwen, take point. Anyone who tries to slow us down or any nonhumanoid we encounter is to be terminated with extreme prejudice,” Jack coldly stated. He slid an arm around my waist, hefted me tightly to his side, and we limped into the Patterson Corporation on Gwen’s petite heels.


	10. Genetica - Chapter 10 - Propagation

**Genetica**

**Issue Ten**

**Propagation**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

There were probably a few dozen fine reasons why time agents should not get involved with office boys. Holding ours next to me as he struggled to cling onto his humanity while proving he was field agent material, at least twenty of those reasons resonated inside my brain.

“Research and development is underground,” Tosh informed us. “Take the next two lefts and then a right. There’ll be a lift. Ride that down to the twentieth subfloor.”

Gwen peeked around a corner, gave me a hand signal to relay things were clear, and disappeared around the corner. Ianto let me hold him up. That in and of itself showed how sickly he was. My throat was sticky and thick with worry. We stumbled around the corner and I caught just a glimpse of Gwen’s dark hair before she rounded the next corner.

“It’s clear, Jack,” Gwen relayed via our commlinks. Ianto tried to right himself. I refused to let go and good thing, because his legs buckled.

“You are so getting an ass reaming,” I grunted after snugging him back to my side.

“Bet you say that to all the coffee boys,” he replied, his voice strained.

“Sixty percent,” Owen said. I wished he would stop. Really I did. But I said nothing, just hustled Ianto along as fast as I could.

We found Gwen waiting for us at the elevator, an unconscious security man propped up in the corner. She held the door of the lift. Ianto and I fell into it, his side and my back slamming into a smooth wall. The man moaned aloud at the impact.

“Sorry,” I murmured as the elevator jerked into motion. Gwen placed her hand on his brow.

“He’s so clammy,” she softly said, her palm staying on his forehead as we rode into the depths of the earth. Her eyes met mine and held. I couldn’t say what I thought should be said. That she was now engaged and I was in a knotty, thorny, scary, convoluted, and wonderful thing with Ianto and so the something that had started to simmer between us should be taken off the stove and allowed to grow cold like unwanted oatmeal. That should be said, _needed_ to be said, for both of us, but not now. “We’ll get you better, luv,” she whispered repeatedly to Ianto. A soft jerk and a subtle ping announced we had hit subfloor twenty. Breathing in the sour smell of slug leeching out of Ianto soured my stomach. I got him settled in the corner and then turned to face the door as it slid open. I scanned high and Gwen scanned low. Not a soul stood on the other side.

“This place is a labyrinth,” Tosh said as I gathered up Ianto. His arm cinched around my neck, my arm around his waist, we followed Gwen into the sterile white corridor. “I have the cameras off. Go straight then left. That should take you to the first lab.”

“How many labs are there?” Gwen enquired, stepping surely and slowly, moving her handgun left and then right. I moved along in her wake, my gun up as well, but my aim severely compromised by the man hanging off my right side.

“Fifty-four,” Tosh replied. Gwen threw me a worried look.

“Then we start at door number one, Monty,” I tossed out, hugged Ianto tightly, and put my shoulder into the door. We ducked inside to avoid the sound of voices. The lab was dimly lit. Ianto began making odd, gurgling sounds as we waited for the people we had heard to pass by. Bubbling tanks of deep blue water filled the massive area. I had to place my hand over his mouth to quiet him. He struggled to wrench free. It took all I had to keep him subdued. When two shadows moved past, I lifted my sight from the slim patch of light under the door. Ianto broke free, took several steps toward the tall, clear tanks, and then went to his hands and knees. Gwen and I ran to him.

“They’re here, so many, all mating,” Ianto sputtered, his speech slurred. I slid a hand under his arm, Gwen did the same, and we got him back up. “Jack,” he turned to me, his face tinted sapphire from the lights glowing from within the tanks. “We need to mate now. Here.” He tugged at me hungrily, getting one shoulder of my coat and a suspender down to my elbow before I could stop his seeking hands.

“No, this is not the place to mate,” I told him firmly. He sagged into me.

“Jack, there are slugs in these tanks,” Gwen said while I half-carried Ianto to the nearest circular tank. “Dozens of slugs. How long have they been collecting these?”

“Hard to say. These small spikes generally don’t raise a flag. The rift spits and coughs, like a lava flow, all the time. The only reason we got the call on this one was because the rift spit this one up in the Duke’s toilet,” I replied as Ianto shuffled closer to the tank and placed his hands to the thick glass. Two slugs, probably twice the size of the one in the Hub, swam past his face. They moved with sleek grace in the water, undulating around each other. “Otherwise we would have just chalked the sputter up to normal time fluctuations and minor deviances.”

“Jack,” Ianto groaned sensually. I looked from him, palms flat to the tank, to the slugs. They had joined along their flat bottoms, still slicing through the water. They began to tremble while drifting downward. One then split open and absorbed the other one whole. Gwen looked at me incredulously. Ianto began clawing at the tank, desperate to get inside, I had to assume.

Seeing him like this, with scales covering his neck and creeping up along his jaw, made me want to open fire on the aliens that had done this to him. And so, I did. I put a bullet into each tank, sending hundreds of thousands of gallons of slimy water to the floor. My shoes were soaked instantly. Alarms rang out, red lights flashed, and Gwen called me a flaming asshole. Slugs covered the wet tile. We pumped a round into every one of them. Ianto slithered to the ground to scoop up any water he could while mumbling incoherently. I dove at him as he dribbled the viscus liquid into his mouth. He was too weak to put up much of a fight so slapping the water from his hands was easy. I just got him to his feet when the door was flung open.

I put my sights on the first person who came through the door. Finger on the trigger, I watched in sheer horror as a humanoid creature with scales as black as crude oil ambled at us. Ianto threw his weight toward the creature as I touched off a shot. The bullet ripped into what should be an arm but was a tentacle. Four more filed in through the open door. Oily black sludge spewed out of the injured arm. The stench was nearly overwhelming.

“Don’t kill them!” Tosh screamed as Gwen squeezed off a round at a short creature. The bullet sank deeply into one of two fleshy appendages that served as legs. “I think they’re all Navy divers.”

I lowered my gun, tugged Ianto close, and tried to think of a way out of this that would not entail me being swallowed whole during mating. Apparently, there _was_ a limit to the kink Jack Harkness would partake in, and I had finally found it.

 


	11. Genetica - Chapter 11 - Silver Fields

**Genetica**

**Issue Eleven**

**Silver Fields**

**Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

I’ve often heard it said that when you’re dying, you see things. Bright lights, loved ones long dead, favored pets, or, depending on your religiosity, pearly gates. Having worked at Torchwood, I knew what lay on the other side of death. I’d seen and heard resurrected people claim there is nothing but darkness. So, while the intelligent side of my brain knows there is nothing there the spiritual or creative side of my brain thinks otherwise.

I faded out when Jack and Gwen found themselves flanked by aliens. Aliens like me, or what I would be within the hour. Owen’s bracelet was not needed, I could feel my humanity leaving me, scale by black scale. The slip from reality was smooth. One moment I was clinging to Jack, and the next I was standing in a silver field. The moon was overhead, fat and heavy in the sky. It was so low that if I had a mind I could have gone to my toes and touched it. High grasses shifted and tickled my naked thighs as a warm breeze caressed my skin. The air that swirled around me was scented with colors: rich blues, vibrant reds, and sensual plums.

The smells had taste. Fruit and sex, mostly. The honeyed tang of Jack’s skin or the sweet womanly flavor of Lisa’s lips. Inhaling deeply, I dropped to my knees, the grasses parting as I lay down on my back, my arms and legs splayed, much like de Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. The moon dipped and swayed in the navy-blue sky. The wind carried stories of gods and heroes. I could hear heavenly hounds braying on the zephyrs.

Then he was there, with me. Lying down beside me. His mouth on mine, my fingers sliding into his hair. When we parted I rolled over to straddle him. His skin glowed like quicksilver. I ran my hands over his chest, his face, his arms. Jack’s eyes drifted shut. His cock rested hard and hot against my stomach. Mine ached to be inside him.

“Let me love you,” he murmured then opened his eyes.

“You are my Gwier,” I told him. He smiled, his pearly teeth flashing.

“Does that make you Arthur?” he questioned on a shaky exhalation. I nodded and felt his heart beating under my palm. “Is this your Welsh Otherworld, Ianto? Are you here to save me from something? Myself, perchance?”

“Aye, yes, and I vow my troth to you,” I said then claimed his mouth as the grasses rose tall to shield us while we loved each other.

Pain yanked me from the silver fields. I wanted to stay here, with Jack, him deeply buried in me, my cries of passion muted by his shoulder, as the moon blessed us. But the agony was too sharp and too hot to ignore. It yanked me from the other side to hear Gwen shouting for us to hurry. Jack’s feet tangled with mine. He went hard into the wall, losing his grip on me. Tables and chairs surrounded us.

“Go! Go!” Jack bellowed while trying to get to his feet. He tugged me roughly upward, my back cracking and popping. “You stay with me, Ianto.”

I tried to speak but my tongue and throat were now covered with scales. The wet sounds of aliens like me filled the corridor. Things got hazy then, sounds and smells mingling, shouts and gun shots. Jack dragging me along, his breathing strained and raspy. We tripped into the food prep area, bouncing off high metal shelves stocked with dried goods.

“In here, quick!” Gwen sounded scared. I wasn’t. I was beyond fear now. All I craved was being allowed to go back to the silver field to spend my eternity with Jack. “How many of those creatures are there? Oh hell, oh hell, Ianto, oh hell,” Gwen cried out. Jack buried my face into his neck, his arm around my waist. Soon the scales would cover my nose so I breathed him into my soul now while I could. “No wonder we’ve seen so little human security. They’ve bred a whole army.”

“Tosh, we need out of this damn place  _now!_ Owen, you need to speed up whatever research you’re doing!”

My hearing then disappeared. The world was silent. Soon it would be silver. Someone shook me, pressed fingers to my neck, and then threw something grainy into my face. It burned like holy fucking hell. I lurched to the side to escape the misery. My left ear popped open and I could hear again.

“Owen, get as much saline solution as you can on hand. Salt is eating through the scales,” Jack barked and rubbed more salt into my face. I lashed out and opened my mouth to scream. He dumped a handful into my mouth. The pain was so intense I blacked out. When I came to I tasted blood and pus. Jack had hoisted me to his shoulder and was running. The fireman’s carry pushed air out of me with every stride he took. I groaned and vomited down his back, the thick black goo coating my blistered tongue and his coat.

“I’m…sorry,” I croaked. The night then detonated. Brilliant white light and heat blew up over us, searing my face and Jack’s back. My side hit the ground, Jack landed on top of me, and I slipped off once again, a rattling sound deep in my lungs and Jack’s huffs in my ear. Time and space swirled around me and I was there again, in the silver field, with him at my side. It was perfect, an eternity of loving and laughing under the moon with Jack. I prayed I would never have to leave.


	12. Chapter 12 - Chapter 12 - Readings and Vows

**Genetica**

**Issue Twelve**

**Readings and Vows**

**Jack**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

The book was heavy in my hands. My eyes burned. Yet, I read it again, and would continue to read the damn thing over and over until he responded with the lines I knew he knew so well. I peeked up from the illustrations on the worn pages.

He was still as stone, his skin ashen and nearly free from scales. His profile was a part of me now. Like the color of my eyes, the way I laughed, and my miserable Lazarus ability. I could count the scales that remained, so yay for improvement. The ones that lingered were grim reminders of just how close it had been. The room grew blurry. I blinked, coughed, and settled back into my chair to start reading one more time.

“’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, did gyre and gimble in the wabe,” I began, taking a break to grab a sip of some truly terrible coffee.

“All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe.” His reply was a mere whisper. It was coarse and raspy and one of the most melodious things my ears had ever heard. I shut the tattered copy of his childhood copy of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” and placed it on my lap. My gaze met his.

“Welcome back.” I reached out to touch his cheek. His eyelashes fluttered and a large sigh escaped him. “How do you feel?”

“Parched, overheated, sloppy.” I placed my palm to his brow. He was warm but not overly so. He lifted his arm gingerly, his face wrinkling in pain at the tug on the IV needle in the crook of his arm. “Anything to drink?”

“Coffee,” I offered. “Owen made it.”

“I’ll pass. Water please, clear water. Cold as possible.”

Rising from the chair where I had been planted like a bush for days, I heard my spine cracking like kindling tossed into a fire. I laid his book on the bed then bent down to press my lips to his.

“Give me a minute,” I whispered over his dry lips.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he groggily replied. I jogged out of the medical bay and went to the small kitchen area. The dorm fridge was full of half-eaten meals, a few bags with half sandwiches, and way in the back, bottled water.

When I returned, he was still awake, his bleary eyes latching into me. “Let me help you sit up,” I said when he tried to do so on his own. I slid an arm under his back and gently eased him up so he could quench his thirst. “Easy,” I said when he began gulping greedily. “We don’t know how your system is going to handle things yet.”

He cleared his throat after handing the bottle back to me. His hair needed washed badly. Maybe I could do that for him tonight so that when the team returned in the morning, he’d be clean and shaven, which, knowing Ianto, would be how he’d like us to see him.

“Do I look as disheveled as I feel?”

“You look incredible,” I told him then lowered him back to the bed. “I had to send the others home. They’d all slept here for the past few days and were growing ugly.”

His brow wrinkled. “How long have I been out?”

“Five days.” His eyes widened at the news. “And that’s saline that we’re pumping into you. Seems salt is a cure, or what we’re calling a cure. Owen wants to run about ten thousand tests on you when you’re back on your feet.”

“Right, of course. Jack, did I imagine an explosion?” I sat down next to him, taking his hand in mine.

“No, you didn’t. I blew the facility up.” I closed my eyes to moisten them. So many men and women lost, but it was something that needed to be done. They were no longer loyal seamen, they were something else, something unnatural and alien. Something that needed eradicated. Handling alien threats is my job, it’s what makes us Torchwood. The knowledge that I had carried this man out - who was ninety-nine percent alien at the time - while condemning countless others to death did not escape me. I’m a hypocritical bastard when my heart is involved, it seems. It was just another terrible deed to add to the long list of terrible deeds I’ve been involved in. We were both quiet for a few moments. Ianto absorbing and me wallowing. I do that on occasion.

“I’d like to take a leave, if I can?”

“Of course, take as much time as you need to recover.” I slipped my fingers between his.

“Will you come away with me?” He rolled his head to look at me. I shook my head.

“I can’t go away, not for an extended period.”

“You did just a bit ago,” he reminded me. I glanced away. Damn his way of burrowing so quickly into that big pool of guilt I carry around.

“Maybe we could do a day trip, but not a week. There’s too much here that needs my attention,” I told him, trying to use my firm “I’m The Head of Torchwood Three” tone.

“How about a weekend? To talk. About us.”

Seems my firm boss tone needs work. I stared at him. He stared back, struggling against the pull of sleep his depleted body needed.

“Okay, a weekend.”

“Somewhere nice. Far away from Cardiff. A B&B maybe. One that has proper food.”

“You’re extremely pushy for an office boy,” I said, pleased to see a tiny tweak of a smile at the corner of his mouth. ““Define proper food.”

“Proper _Welsh_ food. No pizza or Chinese takeout. Good food, soft bed, frilly linen, no aliens.”

“We’ll dine on Welsh delicacies during the day and make love and talk all night,” I assured him.

“Thank you, Jack,” Ianto mumbled. “Can you do a bit more?” He touched the book with his free hand. I lifted his knuckles to my lips and placed a soft kiss to his skin. Skin, not scales. I released his hand, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and reopened the dogeared book.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that scratch…”

 

(Acknowledgements to Lewis Carroll’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”)

 

**The End**

 

Busman's Holiday, a new tale for everyone's favorite Captain and Coffee Boy, will start in a day or two! Thank you for reading along. 

 

Yours in fiction,

 

Feral


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